


The Curious Case of Incurable Hiccups

by darkforetold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 23:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1204456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Metatron gone and Heaven straightened out, everything returns to (mostly) normal. Dean, Sam, and not-angel Cas go back to saving people, hunting things. The family business. Then Cas gets the hiccups—a curious case of really annoying, seemingly <i>incurable</i> hiccups. For Dean and Cas, it turns their world upside down. Everything they've kept from each other—resentments, <i>feelings</i>—comes to the forefront. The cure for those damn hiccups? Something neither Dean nor Cas ever expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curious Case of Incurable Hiccups

He'd been on the edge for a while now. Kevin's death made him reckless. "Business only" Sam left him empty. Revenge, rage, abandonment... stupid. He thought he could handle it. 

He couldn't and had made another mistake.

Another stupid, fucking mistake.

The Impala whipped through the rural roads, almost drifting around a tight bend. Beside him, Sam let out a sharp exhale, more disapproval than anything else. Dean ignored him. The red marker on the odometer inched toward seventy-five, eighty, eighty-five when Sam's accusing eyes crawled all over him. He didn't need to look at him to see the quiet anger in his face. The distrust. The fact that their brother relationship had been shot to hell. He could feel it burn like acid on his skin. Dean clenched his jaw and reluctantly slowed down. Sam's equivalent to the Eye of Sauron turned toward the window. 

Sam he could handle. He could handle the "business only" bullshit for a while, pretend everything was all right between them. Find the case. Bag the monsters. The usual. He could keep his eye on the job, forget about all the shit he'd done to fuck up their brother bond. For now, just like Winchesters do, they'd hunker down and do what they had to do to survive. Saving people. Hunting things. The family business.

Sam he could handle.

But Cas?

Dean gripped the wheel tight and stole a glance in the rearview mirror. Cas sat in the back seat with his head lolled, blue eyes focused blankly on blurry trees. There were scratches all over his face, a rainbow arc of mottled bruises on one of his cheeks. His lip was split and caked with dried blood. His hair a bird's nest of a mess. Under his torn clothes, Dean knew there was one, maybe two broken ribs. Claw marks, too, and a ton more of fucking bruises. The ex-angel had gotten off easy. Being dragged off by a wendigo hadn't been a picnic. Two of them? Even worse. The not-so surprising part of it all was that it'd been his fault. Just like Kevin—and Jo, Ellen, Ash. Hell, even Benny. Dad, especially. He had a long list of deaths he was responsible for. And back there, with those fucking wendigos, he almost had to tack on Cas' name at the end. All because he couldn't bear the thought of letting him go.

He should've. He had a long list of should have's, too.

Dean frowned and took another sharp turn. Fuck it. It was just as much as Cas' fault as it was his. Cas should've told him he didn't want to hunt with them, that he wanted stay in his nice new apartment. Cas didn't need them anymore. Cas should've told him to fuck off.

Should've. Should've. Should've.

Because Cas didn't, because he himself had been stupid enough to drag him back into their lives, Cas almost died. If he'd been two minutes too late— 

Dean focused on the emptiness of the road. There were trees, sun, the occasional road sign, but he didn't see them. Not really. Only saw Cas strung up like a rabbit in that basement, eyes closed. For a second, Dean didn't even think he'd been breathing. When the second wendigo crashed in for its kill—

Blood still spackled his knuckles, dirt and leathery skin deep under his fingernails. He'd practically clawed the son of a bitch off Cas before lighting it on fire. Nearly lost it when, for that second, he thought he'd lost Cas. It played over and over in his head. _He's gone... God-fucking-damnit, he's gone._

A noise from the back drew his attention. Dean flicked his eyes to the rearview mirror. Cas was sitting up straight now, looking at the back of the seat as if it had slapped him. Frown on his face. His body jerked with another sound. One second passed, two, four... and it happened again. He knew that sound. Dean steeled his jaw, this time to keep from smiling.

Cas had the hiccups.

In the rearview mirror, Cas narrowed his eyes as if contemplating the universe's biggest mystery. Dean traded in Cas for the view of the road. The tiny sounds continued to bounce up from the back seat, followed by an exhale of frustration. Dean slipped a cool glance to Sam. His brother regarded him cautiously, arched a brow, then looked in the back seat. Another hiccup chipped at "business only" Sam and made him smile a little, too.

It was amusing for a while—until it got annoying.

_Hiccup._

"Dean..."

"What do you want, Cas?"

He hadn't meant for his words to come out so... callous. So sharp. So full of fucking anger that he took a second to wonder if there wasn't something else going on. Like feelings and shit, the stuff he shoved so far down his throat and into his stomach that he was amazed he hadn't died of indigestion. Whatever had fueled those words, lit them on fire, Cas seemed to have felt the heat. In the rearview mirror, Cas frowned even deeper, flopped back in his seat and thrust his chin toward the window. Great. Not only had he almost got his best friend killed, he'd pissed him off, too. Silently, Cas waded through another hiccup, then two more, before sighing harshly.

"Something is happening to me." _Hiccup._ "Dean—"

"For crap's sake, Cas, it's just the hiccups."

"How do I get rid of them?"

"Wait it out."

Again, the knife of his words cut through him. Cas clenched his jaw, trying to hide the sting. For ten minutes, they zipped through the rural highway. Cas' hiccups perforated the stale air and Dean turned up the radio at one point to drown them out. It didn't help. Cas' body began to jostle with them, his face screwing up into a wince every time. They were getting worse. More forceful. In fact, they probably hurt.

They were over a hundred miles away from the bunker when Dean took an early exit. It earned him a curious look from his business partner, Sam. He gave a curt answer that he was hungry and Sam didn't say another word. The Impala growled along the frontage road and turned into the drive-thru at McDonald's.

"Welcome to McDonald's. May I take your order?"

"Cas, you want anything?"

"I'm not hungry."

He glanced at Sam. His brother shook his head. Nodding, Dean hooked an elbow out the window and leaned out. "Yeah, I'll take a number two with uh... that orange drink you guys have."

"Hi-C, sir?"

Dean glanced in the side view mirror. Cas was leaning toward his window, wide-eyed and more alive than he'd seen him in the last five hours.

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Okay. I have a number two with Hi-C. Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Nope."

"That'll be $4.35. Please pull ahead to the first window."

Dean did as he was told. At the window, a blonde woman with a sunny smile and dimpled cheeks took his money. He beamed at her when she returned with his drink. A wink made her giggle and for a second, he felt like a hero, not a piece of shit waste of space. Sometimes, it was the little things that mattered.

Dean handed the drink cup back, over a shoulder. He knew from the hiss of leather that Cas had shot forward with urgency, possibly some excitement. When Cas grabbed for the cup, their fingers touched. It was warm, soft and electric. The kind of physical contact that shut the body down immediately with a jolt of wild energy. That energy, a dose of fuck-me-up adrenaline, twisted his stomach in a thousand different ways. His heart sputtered. His dick woke up. If Cas hadn't found a sure grip on the cup, orange drink would've coated his baby's leather seats—and it would've been a bitch to clean out. That didn't worry him so much anymore. Cas' lips were all over that straw, tongue licking the tip. Sucking—

"Sir?"

Dean whipped toward the window, banging his head pretty hard. He winced and grabbed the food bag, giving the pretty woman a sheepish smile. Once a hero, now a complete idiot. If she had noticed, her sunny disposition didn't show it. "Have a nice day!"

"Yeah, you too."

He couldn't roll up that window fast enough. Once safely out of the drive-thru, Dean let out a breath and tossed the bag of food at Sam's feet. He made the fateful mistake of glancing at his brother. Sam looked at him, then the food bag, then at him again. "You going to eat?"

"Later," he said gruffly.

Sam smiled that Stanford-know-it-all smile. The one he hated. The one Sam flashed him when he knew his older brother was lying through his fucking teeth, when Sam had bluffed him at poker—or when he caught him staring at Cas for a little too long.

"What?"

Sam shrugged. That stupid smile didn't disappear. In the back, Cas made a happy little noise.

Orange drink was Cas' favorite.

:::

Orange drink was an asshole. 

Two hours and four piss stops later, Cas sat across from them at one of the bunker's big tables. He was thumbing through a porn mag of all things—a vintage Busty Asian Beauties; _his_ porn mag, _his_ favorite one—right out in the open. Still had the fucking hiccups. Dean didn't know what annoyed him more: Cas looking at a porn mag or those goddamn hiccups. He glowered at Cas over a pile of research books. Cas didn't notice.

"Why were there two wendigos? Don't they hunt alone?" Sam asked. "And why didn't they eat all the people they'd killed?"

_Hiccup._

Dean clenched his teeth. Cas turned a page, oblivious.

"Dean."

"What?" he snapped, looking up. Sam wore a grim face. "How the hell am I supposed to know? So, they hunted in a pair, so what."

"So what? Dean..." _Hiccup._ "There've been these... feral _monsters_ all over the country. Uh, vampires that don't suck the blood out of their victims. The djinn that butchered a whole family. These monsters are supposed to eat their victims and—they just _killed_. The, uh.. the lamia in Kentucky. The werewolf—"

_Hiccup._

"—in Louisiana. Yeah, Sam. I get it," he hissed.

"Don't you want to know why they're killing? Why they're—"

_Hiccup._

"Do you _mind_?" Dean growled.

Cas glared up at him. "I can't help it, _Dean_."

"Give me that." 

Dean snatched the porn mag from him which left Cas quietly seething. Cas was all elbows and angles; stern jaw, arms crossed over his chest. They stared daggers at each other from across the table. If he wasn't mistaken, the room had dropped a few degrees.

Sam cleared his throat.

He glowered at his brother and thumbed a page absently in his book. "So, we bag a few of these... _feral monsters_ and question them, all right?"

"Where?"

_Hiccup._

"Wherever. The next one. Pops up," Dean grated.

"That could take days. Weeks, even. Do you really want more people to die while we wait?"

_Hiccup._

"What else do you suggest we do, Sam? Huh? Got any bright ideas?"

His voice had clamored to a shout. He didn't notice it until Sam gave him that _why are you being such an asshole?_ expression. Beyond the silent brother standoff, Cas winced with his next hiccup, passing a distressed glance at him which he caught out of his peripheral. Sam must have noticed it, too. "We've got to help him."

"Do I look like Mary Poppins to you?"

Sam frowned. He could hear the speech now. _He's your best friend, Dean, so stop being such a dick to him. You're the one who almost got him killed, remember?_ He flinched. When his brother didn't berate him, when his eyes flew open instead—

"Spoonful of sugar," Sam said with a snap.

"What?"

Before his sasquatch brother could answer, Sam jumped up to his feet, dashing toward the kitchen. Seven seconds of silence—and one hiccup—was all it took before something crashed to the floor. Both he and Cas flinched at the sound.

"You fucking up my kitchen?" Dean growled out. Another crash. Sounded like a pot hitting tile. "I just cleaned in there, goddamnit!"

A minute later, Sam bounded in like a goofy Labrador puppy, holding a spoon and—what looked like a small canister of sugar. His brother flopped into the seat next to Cas, opened the metal tin, and scooped. Sam offered Cas the spoonful of sugar. The not-so angel leaned back away from it as if his brother, Lucifer, had appeared in the white crystals. "Cas, this'll help. I promise."

 _Your promises are shit_ , he wanted to say but didn't.

It was almost funny watching the two of them. Each time Sam tried to get Cas to eat it, Cas would turn his head away like a baby. A hiccup here, a hiccup there, and Sam had had enough. "Do I have to make airplane noises to get you to eat this?"

Cas looked at him quizzically.

"Dude. Mix it with some water first or something."

Sam glowered at his brother. "Didn't know you were an expert at spoonfuls of sugar, _Dean_."

"M'not. Just common sense, _Sam_."

Truth of the matter was, each time Sam got the hiccups when he was a kid, he'd give him a spoonful of sugar _mixed with water_. So yeah, he was a fucking expert. Sam snatched one of the water bottles off the table and tossed it to the breathing/talking/walking hiccup machine. Cas caught it and stared at it as if he'd suddenly forgotten what a water bottle was. Hiccupped defiantly just to make a point. Sam sighed. "Take a sip and hold it, so I can dump this sugar—"

"I don't want your spoonful of sugar, Sam."

"Cas," Dean started. He'd lost his patience. "I will hold you down, I swear to God."

Cas tore him apart with his glare. Dean winced internally, but didn't back down. They shared a silent conversation as they stared, most of which consisted of curse words and accusations. After Cas had basically told him to fuck off with his narrowed-eyed frown, Cas snatched the spoon from Sam. Sugar flew everywhere. Sam flinched, Dean growled and Cas ignored them both. It wasn't until Cas got _his own_ spoonful of sugar out of the can that he did what he'd been told. Cas held a mouthful of water, shoveled the sugar in, and swallowed. They waited. 

And waited.

And— _hiccup_.

Dean wiped a hand down his face. Across the table, Sam sighed and said, "Well, that didn't work."

"You think?"

Sam cut Dean a glare. He'd been getting a lot of those lately. 

"They're starting to hurt," Cas said quietly.

"Don't worry, Cas. We'll fix it."

Sam clapped him lightly on the shoulder and gave him a smile. Forlorn, Cas did his best to return it. Not a smile, but a... half-crooked, half-not sort of look. Probably because Cas could only feel pain in half of his face while the other half just kind of... existed. Like when he himself got pummeled by Lucifer wearing Sam as a dress, except Cas—well, he didn't look quite as bad. Tired, maybe, but not as torn up. He was thankful until another hiccup pissed him off again. Cas sighed.

Sam grabbed his laptop and pulled it closer. Tapped, tapped on the keys and clicked the touchpad a couple of times. Dean turned back to his research book, reading about lunar cycles and werewolves and feral things. Every hiccup grated on his nerves, making him want to throw something.

"It says here... that drinking water upside down might do the trick."

Dean frowned and snapped his book closed. It was louder and more punctuated than he thought it'd be. Both Sam and Cas looked at him. "What are you doing, Sam?"

"Research—"

"On how to cure the hiccups? Suddenly, we're babysitters? What about those... feral things out there?"

" _Dude_ , what is your _deal_?"

"Last time I checked there were monsters pulverizing people and now, you're suddenly more concerned about _hiccups_?"

" _Dean_ , it's _Cas_... you know—" Sam leaned in to whisper. "... your best friend _Cas_? The guy you couldn't just... leave the fuck alone?"

"I can hear you," Cas said.

"His hiccups aren't my goddamn fault, Sam."

"Yeah? Well, they may as well be."

Dean frowned. Sam didn't need to say _because you almost got him killed_. He heard it between the lines. His stupid brother jerked the laptop toward him. "You're on hiccup duty. I'll check to see if anyone's got any leads on those feral monsters."

Sam grabbed his cell phone and stormed out of the room, leaving him with Cas. The silence was almost deafening, save for those goddamn hiccups. The whole time those things ravaged his body, Cas wouldn't look at him. Just waded through them like a pile of knives, wincing and squeaking out little noises of pain. They might as well have been knives, those hiccups, for how they made Dean feel. Each one, each little wince or gasp, reminded him of how close he'd been to losing Cas back there in that basement. He hurt, but maybe it wasn't only because Cas getting hurt had been his fault. Maybe _why_ he hurt so much was because of the way Cas looked at him—or didn't—as if he'd betrayed him like nobody else could. Right now, in cold avoidance of Cas' eyes, it seemed as if Dean Winchester had been the worst thing that'd ever happen to him. It stung worse than a knife wound.

 _Nut up_.

With a frown, Dean pulled the laptop closer and went to work. Over the course of an hour, they tried all sorts of shit that didn't work: swallowing water upside down, breath holding. Pinching Cas had just made him more pissed off. Having him count until they were gone didn't help either. They stopped at 762. Meanwhile, the tension between them grew, and not the good kind either. They'd begun a passive-aggressive war of snide comments which turned into full-on snapping at each other. At one point, Dean was sure Cas had told him to fuck off with more than just a glare that'd been both hot and cold, and flustered cheeks.

They had reached an impasse and moved to separate sides of the room. Dean cruising the Internet and Cas trying the latest trick to get rid of those fucking hiccups. They didn't look at each other. They pretended the other didn't exist. Fine with him. He didn't care.

Dead-weight feet preceded his lumbering giant of a brother. Dean didn't bother looking at him. Out of nowhere, Sam slammed the laptop's lid down, scaring the shit out of him. Almost nipped his fingers right off. "Dude, I was _researching_ ," Dean hissed.

"No, you were watching porn," Sam snapped. He took one glance at Cas— "Dean, can I talk to you for a second?"

Dean leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. If his brother wanted to talk, he could do it here, so said his body language.

" _In the kitchen_."

One tell-tale sign to know a Winchester was pissed: a gun in the face. The other: tension in the jaw line, teeth clenched tight. It usually meant someone was about to get punched or get a face full of gunmetal. Thankfully, Sam didn't have a gun which left only one other option.

Exhaling hard, Dean stood up and followed Sam toward the kitchen. He glanced at Cas' side of the room. Because he'd told him to, Cas was doing a handstand against a wall—the _for-sure_ cure for his hiccups. A total fucking lie and a little hazing at its finest. Dean flashed him a thumbs up. If Cas still had his mojo, the not-so angel would've burned his eyes right out of his skull if his glare was any indication. Dean shot him a shit-eating grin.

When they reached the kitchen, Sam stopped and turned so abruptly that he almost missed it. It took all of his reflexes not to run into him head-first. Dean had to double-take to make sure Ezekiel wasn't squatting in his brother again—Sam's stare was _that_ cold. 

"What are you doing?"

"Fucking with Cas."

"No shit," Sam snapped. "Why?"

Dean shrugged. Good question, actually. He was being a dick to him on purpose, but why he didn't know. Back there, the tension had been charged with _something_. Stuff that maybe they weren't saying to each other. Hurts that they'd buried so deep inside themselves that it was all coming to a boil. That was how it usually worked.

"You find out about those feral monsters?" He wanted to change the subject.

"No leads," Sam said shortly. "What about Cas?"

"What about him?" 

Sam gave him a look.

"It's the hiccups. He's not dying."

"But he still has them, Dean, and you're not really helping him."

Dean shrugged again. 

Sam sighed and ran big fingers through his girly hair. He needed a haircut. Bad. "Maybe he's cursed."

"Are you listening to yourself right now?"

" _Why_ are you being such a dick about this?"

"Because it's the fucking hiccups, Sam. Not the Apocalypse," Dean snapped.

"Fine. Then what do you suggest we do?"

"I have no fucking clue. I'm not an expert on hiccups."

" _Okay_. What did Dad do when you had the hiccups?"

"He said 'hold this' and handed me a sawed-off."

Sam gave him a pitying look. He hated being pitied.

"Just go tell him I died or something."

Sam rolled his eyes. "How?"

"How what? How did I die? I slipped in the shower." Dean snapped his fingers. "Tacos."

"How's that going to cure his hiccups?"

"By scaring him," Dean deadpanned.

"Says who?"

"Says who?” he echoed. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you’ve never heard of it, Sam. S'called the Internet—"

"Fuck off, Dean," Sam growled. "Your stupid plan isn’t going to work."

"You're right."

He'd had enough of this hiccup bullshit. Dean withdrew his gun from his waistband and marched out of the kitchen. Still on his side of the room, where he'd been doing his handstand, Cas was on his own two feet again. The glare Cas gave him should've frozen in him place, but it didn't. If Dean cared to notice, those glacial blue eyes said a lot of things. That Cas had figured out he was full of shit and that no, that handstand wouldn't be curing his hiccups. They also said stuff like _you hurt me, you almost let me die_ , but he pretended to ignore all of that, too. He traded in his sudden pang of numbing guilt for anger, something he found deep inside himself. _You left me_ , he could've screamed back to those eyes. _Just like everyone else_. Dean kept his mouth shut, let his feet do the talking. The slam of his boots on tile sounded heavier than Sam's lead feet behind him. When Sam called his name, he ignored him. When Cas took a step back as if he were afraid, Dean grabbed his shirt collar. He turned Cas around and shoved him into the wall. 

If he'd been smarter, he would've thought before he acted.

He wasn't and he didn't, and Cas took the shove as ungracefully as any human being would. If bones could clatter, Cas' surely would have. He'd forgotten that Cas was hurt, with a few broken ribs and a fuckton of bruises—and _he_ , his supposed best friend, had just added a couple more. The impact of not-so angel and wall knocked a puff of warm surprise out of full lips, which still smelled like orange drink. After the shock had worn off, those wide eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. So much so, that in that second, Dean swore Cas was a Winchester, through and through. That he was either going to get a gun in his face or a punch. Dean got neither. What he got was worse.

It was a frown. Not the frown Cas wore when he was thinking too hard, and not the pissed off one either. This frown, this _new_ one, had disappointment and realization in it. It was as if Cas had come to a very real decision right then. What, he didn't know. He didn't want to know. Whatever it was, whatever decision he'd made, it made his eyes darker and sharper around the edges somehow. He could cut wood on the angle of his jaw with how hard Cas was clenching it. Dean knew he had just fucked up monumentally and it messed with his head. 

He stopped thinking and acted instead.

Dean put the gun to Cas' head, cocked it, and yelled "No more hiccups!" right in his face. Sam could've shouted his name again for all he knew. That hard grip on his shoulder—hell, that was probably Sam, too. Suddenly, none of that mattered anymore. All that existed in that big, very empty room was him and Cas. And what he saw in Cas' face sapped the Winchester right out of him. What he saw was fear. Genuine fear, glittering wet and wild in Cas' blue eyes like crazy sapphires. Cas thought he was actually going to shoot him. It was in his body language, tense as fuck, and in his face. Fear, _actual_ fear. Dean took a second to soak it in.

Then, Cas' face fell. Deepened. Fear slipped away like an eel and in its place sprung... something else. He didn't name it right then, too distracted by the bruises on Cas' face, the way they stared at him accusingly. The split lip and scratches cut into him as if they were his own. _You did this_ was in every broken line and angle. All he saw then was Cas strung up like a piece of meat. His own guilt stared right back at him. Rage—that was what he found in Cas' cold eyes. The kind of rage that'd been aimed at him only once before—in that dirty alley, back when he was going to say yes to Michael. Rage as righteous and hot as the sun. 

The room fell to a notable silence. No one moved. No one breathed. They waited. 

And waited.

Then— _hiccup_.

They deflated.

He couldn't help it. Tired, frustrated, hungry maybe, definitely delirious, Dean let out a laugh—and it just didn't stop. He laughed and laughed until tears started streaming down his face. The gun fell away from Cas' head and his whole body just… _melted_ with uncontrollable laughter. The tension was gone. He was _gone_. Under his touch, Cas bristled and jerked his hands off him. Dean just laughed some more. "This isn't funny, _Dean_."

"No, no, you're right. It isn't funny," he admitted, barely able to breathe. "It's _hilarious_."

Cas narrowed his eyes at him. Dangerously.

"Dean—"

In a fury of bruises, angelic rage and hiccups, Cas broke away from them and stormed out of the room. It took a few seconds for a door to slam shut, but when it did, it was as if the entire bunker shook with it. Dean turned to face Sam's accusatory finger. "This is _your_ mess. You fix it."

Eventually, Dean was left alone. Another door had slammed, driving home how much he'd fucked up. He wiped a hand down his face. "It's just the fucking hiccups."

But it wasn't. It was so much more.

:::

The hallway to Cas' room may as well have been made out of egg shells. Between him and the bedroom door, there was maybe ten feet of polished tile, each one of them inlaid with their failures as friends. He took a deep breath and stepped on the first tile, the one he deemed _failure to communicate_. It reminded him of all the times they hadn't talked to each other when they should've. So many fucking problems could've been avoided had they just _talked_. Like Cas' deal with Crowley back in the day or his own shit with Ezekiel when he'd kicked Cas out of the bunker. Right then and there, still standing on the first goddamn tile, he promised himself he'd talk. Sure, it wouldn't be easy, but shit, he'd have to try. That was good enough, wasn't it? Trying?

Next was _trust_. Dean hopped on that tile and stood in the middle of it, staring blankly. So many fucking trust issues. White and gray flecks swirled around him in the stone, like marks on a map. That gray spot was Cas' choice to work with the King of Hell rather than tell him about Raphael and trusting him to help—the betrayal part of it? He didn't even want to think about that. Another gray chunk was his own crap, not telling Cas the truth about Ezekiel and throwing him out of the bunker with some bullshit explanation. There was a white fleck for Cas' inability to let him help with the Metatron and Heaven shit. A huge semi-gray/semi-white splotch was everything else. Tablets, abandonment—

Dean stepped on the edge of next tile, then decided to jump over it altogether. It was just better that way. He gave it a quick glance, as if looking at it fully was admission to its truth. The tile didn't even look all that special. Gray and white specks, like the rest of them, polished and smooth. Except that, in his stupid little game, it meant a lot more than just a few missteps in their friendship. A lot more. On a scale of one to the Apocalypse, it was the Apocalypse to end all Apocalypses, and wasn't one bad enough? Turning, he left his apocalyptic tile behind— _you have feelings for your best friend. Gay feelings._

The rest of them? Fuck it. He didn't name them because communication problems, trust issues and the Apocalypse was all he could handle right now. When he reached the door to Cas' bedroom, he stared at it for a long time. It would probably sprout a hundred mouths, with razor-sharp teeth and acid spit, if he touched it. So, for a while, he didn't. Thought about slipping away quietly without a word or apology. _Failure to communicate_ punched him right in the face. He nutted up, knocking gently on the door. 

No answer.

He did it again and when silence answered him a second time, he turned the knob and opened it just enough. Cas sat on the bed with his back to the door. Shoulders slumped, spine bowed. Every once in a while, his body would jump with another hiccup. Not once did Cas glance over his shoulder. 

He crept in slowly, warily, watching Cas' every move. Waiting for him to lunge, bite, and kill him with that cold stare. Venom he could handle. That disappointed frown? No way. Out of everything, it was the worst. Accusatory in some ways, hurt in all the others. It was _that_ frown that Cas gave him when Dean sat on the bed. Just a glance before Cas turned away again to stare at the wall. That glance was all he needed to feel like he was dying inside, like he was the worst piece of shit on the planet. He probably was, too. Cas didn't look at him again. Dean sat there, hands on his knees, and waited. Counting the hiccups that rolled by. Two... five... eight...

"You should've left me alone."

A punch to the face would've felt better. Make that several good, solid punches. Dean clenched his jaw. He hurt, bad. But like any good Winchester, he buried that hurt real deep. "Yeah, I'm thinking I should have."

"Why didn't you?"

_I need you. I can't live without you._

He swallowed that shit down quick, almost choked on it. He didn't _need_ Cas, just like Cas didn't need him. Before he could say as much, Cas turned to face him. Caught him off guard with those wild blue eyes. Dean just sat there with his mouth hanging open. He looked stupid and he knew it. Cas sighed raggedly when he didn’t answer. "I had a job again, _Dean_. This time, I had saved up enough of my own money to get my own apartment. I was living on my _own_. I was—" Cas looked down, clenched his jaw. "Self-sufficient."

_Did you think about me at all? Miss me?_

_Shut the fuck up._

"Well, Cas," he said, clipped. "You know where the door is."

Cas inched his head back slowly as if he'd said something appalling. Something equivalent to saying his trenchcoat was the ugliest thing he'd ever seen, or that he hated him. He might as well have. Truth of the matter was, he didn't want him to leave, he loved that stupid trenchcoat and—no, don't even finish that thought. But the hurt was all over Cas' face already and he couldn't take it back. Then, he frowned. That horrible, disappointed frown.

"And if I left? How long would it last this time?" Cas asked. "A week? Maybe two?"

He didn't respond.

"We both know how it would play out. You'll send me a text in a few days, find an excuse to go have coffee. Then, I won't hear from you for weeks, Dean. _Weeks_. You'll ignore my texts and calls only to show up months later and drag me into a case. Except, next time, it'll _kill me_."

After they'd dealt with Metatron, returned all the angels home, and righted Heaven, he'd done all of that. Dean let him go because Cas said he wanted to get his own foothold in life—the son of a bitch _left him_ —then texted him weeks later. Barged back into his life with the promise of _it's just coffee, man_. All because he couldn't bear the thought of letting him go. Not completely. Coffee had become unannounced visits after weeks of ignoring his texts and calls. Then, a convenient case or two—five, actually—in the town Cas had chosen to live his Dean-less life in. More weeks of unanswered calls followed, punctuated by him showing up out of the blue and dragging him to a case that'd almost killed him. 

More than anything, though, he seemed to remember those weeks without him quite distinctly. He'd try to forget him. Tried not to think about Cas every time he saw something blue. No matter how hard he tried, he always looked for him in the backseat of the Impala as if Cas being there would always be a sure thing. No question. He wouldn't even admit to himself, let alone anyone else, that he'd lay on Cas' bed sometimes, pretending he was close. Thinking about what he was doing, wondering if he was eating enough, if people were treating him right. 

Fucking hell, he was a mess. His head and shoulders slumped with it. He couldn't even look Cas in the face anymore. "What do you want from me, Cas? You want me to leave you alone for good? Is that what you want?"

Cas answered with a hiccup. Other than that, he was deadly silent. It was all he needed to say and more.

"Okay. You got it." 

He stood up.

"Dean—"

"No, I get it, Cas. Trust me. I won't ever call you, text you... I won't ever see you again. If that's what you want, then we're done."

He wasn't given a chance to leave, to go lick his wounds in peace. Cas stopped him by grabbing his arm. "That's not what I want," Cas said, his voice quiet, delicate. "That's not what I want at all. I wish you'd see that."

_Make me see._

"Dean, when you..." Cas stopped. He could almost hear him weigh his words carefully between hiccups. "... sent me away from the bunker, with _nothing_ —"

"I already apologized for that, man."

" _Listen_ to me."

 _Failure to communicate_. This was what Cas was trying to do, against all odds. Communicate. He promised himself he'd try to communicate, too, and all he'd done so far was shut down. The Winchester way. Dean sucked in a steadying breath and finally turned to face Cas. Not a shadow of a frown was on Cas' face, just calm understanding. An open willingness to talk, finally _talk_ , and air out their problems with each other. And for once in his life, Dean took it seriously. He sat down on the bed and nodded. "I'm listening."

"I understood why you did it, Dean. I would never begrudge you trying to save your brother. That's not it." Cas swallowed hard around a hiccup. "You... _abandoned_ me—"

His brain short-circuited. Fuck communication.

"I abandoned _you_? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Dean—"

"You listen to _me_ ," Dean snapped. Anger erupted out of him, popping him up to his feet. He turned, turned back, and ran his fingers through his short hair. At a complete fucking loss. Then— "Look, dude, when you left, when you chose a normal life, _you_ abandoned _me. Again._ Like all the other fucking times you left. Remember that goddamn crypt? When I said I needed you? What did you do? You left! You left me just like everyone else. _Just_ like everyone else." Dean glared at him. "I thought you were different, man, but I was wrong. I'm so fucking stupid to think that an angel, my best friend, wouldn't fucking leave me." 

Something simmered in his blue eyes. His time away, living alone—it had changed him. He could see it in his face. It didn't crumble under his accusations like it would've months ago. He knew then, before Cas even opened his mouth, that Cas wouldn't grovel with his apologies. That he wouldn't go back to following him around like a little puppy, waiting for scraps of affection. The fire in his eyes, his stern jaw, that ram-rod straight posture—all of it said Cas wasn't a broken angel anymore, but a man. More importantly, his own man. He was strong. 

—and he was sick of his bullshit.

"Make no mistake, Dean, yes, I did leave you," Cas started, like thunder announcing a growing storm. "But I didn't _abandon_ you. You _abandoned_ me."

Dean opened his mouth—

"Shut up. _I'm_ talking now." 

—then snapped it shut.

"You sent me away with _nothing_. No food. No water. _Nothing_. You have an unlimited resources. Contacts. Supplies. Yet you sent me away without once looking back—"

"That's not fucking true."

"Dean!"

It was a roar, no other word to describe it, and it sent Dean back on his heels. Made the hairs on his neck stand on-end. He closed his mouth and kept it shut. Not even another hiccup could relieve the tension in the air. It didn't even cause Cas to miss a beat.

"When you say I abandoned you? You don't even understand the definition of the word," Cas growled. "After Heaven, I left because I couldn't handle being hurt like that again. I can't go on living day to day, not knowing if you're going to tell me to _leave_ or beg me to stay. I needed _stability_. I need my _own_ identity. And brick by brick, I built that." He took in a breath. "I'm proud of what I made of myself, Dean. I am proud of who I've become."

 _I don’t need you_ , was what he said.

"Great. No, that's great, Cas." He couldn't have sounded more angry and hurt if he tried. "I'm really... really proud of you. Glad you made a life of your own. That's... awesome. I guess that means you're leaving. I'll go tell Sam." Dean turned away, marching toward the door. "And hey, after this, don't worry. I won't text or call so you can have your life."

"Dean—"

"No more talking. You and I—we're done."

Fuck communication. Fuck trust. Double-fuck the Apocalypse.

He was fully prepared to open that door, closed it behind him and never look back. Never call or text Cas again. Never walk back into his life. Forget about him. He'd throw away everything blue, never look at the sky again. Clean out Cas' bedroom. Delete his goddamn number from his phone.

What he did was the complete opposite.

Dean turned and stormed right back into that room. Still on the bed, Cas chirped out another hiccup which, to him, sounded like a noise of surprise. Dean opened his mouth, stopped thinking, and let it all out.

"I _need_ you. I don't care what that means. I'm not even sure _what_ that means. But I do. Goddamn it, Cas, I _want_ you here. I don't want you out there, living alone—no, fuck it. I don't want you living without _me_ , all right? I don't want to wake up every morning and have you _not there_. You belong here, in the bunker, with me. In the back of the Impala, with _me_. Going on cases with _me_. I want you in my fucking life, Cas, and I want to be in yours. _Us_ , Cas... I want it to be _us_ against the bad guys. _Us_ against the world. _Us_ , as in you and me. _Together_."

Fuck yeah. Communication.

Holy shitballs. The Apocalypse.

It stared him right in the face. _You have feelings for your best friend. Gay feelings._ The fuck-all of Apocalypses. Awkward didn't even begin to describe the feeling in the room. Red couldn't even touch the shade of his face right now. Cas just stared at him with wide blue eyes which made everything worse. Didn't say shit. Dean had just communicated, spilled his guts and all he got out of it was a brassy hiccup.

_Think fast._

"So yeah, whatever. If, you know—you still want to go." Dean rubbed the back of his neck. A little shrug. "Makes no difference, really—uh, to me." Who was he kidding. "Yeah."

Cas tucked his split lip under his teeth and looked down. A little smile blossomed before it fell away completely, as if he was afraid to let it thrive. Back to stoicism, his forte. His expression deepened. Not a disappointed frown this time, no. Instead, it was his heavy-thinking face. The next thing he'd say was going to be some heavy shit. Revolutionary. He could feel it in his balls and braced himself for it.

"I chose you, Dean. The day I became human again, I—" Those blue eyes met his. "I... wouldn't have chosen humanity for any other reason than to be by your side."

His heart stopped. Everything stopped. His brain. His breathing—

"So... you're..."

"Staying, Dean," Cas whispered. "Us, as in you and me. Together."

 _Hiccup_.

Just as everything had stopped, it started up again, this time with a bang. His heart exploded from his chest while his brain chewed everything up. _Us. Together._ His breathing kicked in a little later and his head swam with the lack of oxygen. The fucking Apocalypse. Everything hit him at once. By the time he was aware of himself, he was inches from Cas, grabbing his face and pulling him in. Kissing him. Bruising him with how much he cared about him. Unexpectedly, Cas jerked him back to arm's length and frowned. Dark and stormy. Blood trickled from the cut on his lip. Cas licked it with his pink tongue. Winced a little, too.

"Sorry."

Those bright eyes stared at him. Neither of them moved, afraid the world might tip if they did. Up until this point, the hiccups had been as constant as any clock. Ticking away the time with their monotonous rhythm. Dean expected one to pop up any minute and when it didn't, when the next three didn't show either, his eyes went wide. They waited.

And waited.

Then—nothing.

Dean opened his mouth to say something about his hiccups, that they'd been cured. He didn't get a single word out. Cas was there, smothering his mouth with his own, kissing him deep. It was their second kiss ever and Dean expected it to be slow, like something from a chick-flick. Full of starry eyes, a giggle or two over candlelight, and a sensual exploration of each other that was both gentle and chaste. Nope. Fuck that. Cas had other plans. With Cas’ greedy hands _everywhere_ and his kisses that almost hurt, it was more like WWF wrestling—if wrestling didn’t include two sweaty dudes kissing. 

He liked it, he discovered. His hands skated over hard muscle instead of the soft, pillowy skin of a woman. It wasn't flower perfume he smelled, but sweat and _man_ , and it was heady, like a fucking drug. Dean broke off their latest crushing kiss to nuzzle at Cas’ neck, to inhale his skin. Just smell because he _could_. Cas didn’t smell angel-y, like ozone or some shit, or like incense or myrrh, or whatever angels were supposed to smell like. What he found was human, so human he got lost in it. There was a hint of dirt on his skin, maybe even blood, which wasn’t unappealing—he himself was caked in it constantly. Better than that was the smell of greasy fast food, a touch of that orange drink, and a note of… freshness he hadn’t expected. If sunshine had a smell, it was probably this; that undetectable cleanliness, a sort of unbridled _life_ he hadn’t experienced anywhere else. His skin was soaked in it, as if Cas had been a sponge or a fucking solar panel, sucking up all the goodness in the world. Shit, if he just didn’t want to stay there all day, smelling him. That was weird, so he tasted him instead.

Still at his neck, Dean kissed him, moving down an inch to nibble at the meaty juncture between head and shoulder. Sucking just a little bit, taking his sweet goddamn time. The delicate skin trembled with the affection and Dean liked it, liked making Cas groan like he was. It surprised him, but—Cas tasted even better, except he couldn’t put a name to it. Skittles and French fries didn’t taste half as good as Cas did. He was both salty and sweet, warm and vibrant. He kissed the hollow spot behind his ear and it was cotton candy. Teethed the shell of his ear and, boom, the best hot dog in the world. Whatever was delicious and tasted good, Cas was it and a whole lot better. And goddamn, if his skin tasted this good, he wondered how his cock—

Suddenly, it was the WWF all over again. One more slow nibble at Cas’ ear had the not-so angel up and lunging, tackling him to the bed. Cas ended up on top somehow, straddling hips between his strong thighs. Defenseless, Dean had his arms up over his head, pinned down to the mattress. Those blue eyes were sparking like open wires, electric and dangerous. It excited him, kind of scared him shitless, too. It was smite-y and promised a whole lot of kinky stuff. Shit he didn’t get a chance to think about because Cas was rolling his hips, grinding into him. The tight, constrained friction… blew his fucking mind, the heat of Cas’ hard-on so fucking… Dean choked on a groan and went with it, angling his hips up for more. It was even better, the friction, the rubbing, and it drove him crazy. Above him, Cas bore into him, harder and rougher. If he had the mind to think about anything other than his dick, and how _good_ it felt, he may have noticed Cas’ little smile. 

The bastard was enjoying the control.

Minutes of this and he’d be coming like a geyser if he didn’t stop it. Dean wretched his wrists free and grabbed the back of Cas’ neck, pulling him in. Their tongues met in the middle, both hungry, and chased each other with wet warmth. They weren’t pretty little kisses, all neatly wrapped up in frilly paper and topped with a bow. These kisses were the equivalent of two people trapped on a desert island with no food for weeks. They were ravenous and desperate, wet and sloppy as fuck. One of them groaned, but he didn't know who, and then it was all hands for themselves. Like a goddamn torpedo, Cas’ fingers went straight for his dick. Dean jumped, maybe even winced a little, because it was so aggressive. A squeeze that was just a little too hard. Grunting, Dean fought back by ripping Cas’ shirt up and skirting his fingers over bare skin. Tender cuts and scratches bumped under his fingertips and by then, he knew it was too late to stop. There was a tiny noise of pain. Cas sucked in a sharp breath. Bewildered, his hair sticking up every which way, Cas frowned.

Dean snapped his hands back. "Shit, Cas. I'm sorry—"

Cas didn’t say a word, tore his own shirt off and threw it aside. Bruises colored his skin. A claw mark sliced its way down his side. Dean drowned in guilt. Not only because he’d dragged him into that case, got Cas fucked up like that, but because he’d just hurt him. Again. But all that shit went away when Cas, acting out a little revenge, squeezed his nuts just enough to make them hurt a little. 

“Fucking _ow_.”

No more Mr. Nice Guy. 

Growling, Dean threw him over on his back, draping over him like a wet, heavy blanket. Cas grunted, and that wasn’t even the best part. When Dean grabbed his hair and yanked, pulling it at a painful angle, Cas whimpered. It was beautiful.

“You want to play fucking games, Cas?” he hissed. “Or do you want to get _fucked_?”

Cas clenched his jaw.

“Which is it going to be, huh?”

“I want to get fucked.”

Swearing just added to his humanness. If he didn’t having a raging boner then, he sure fucking did now. Dean showed him by thrusting his hips forward, so hard, so punishing, that Cas winced. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I said, _fuck me_.” 

Dean crushed his mouth with a kiss. Biting his lower lip as hard as he did, Cas drove home that he wasn't a delicate flower. Never was. That if he handled him like fragile china, like he always had, it would not only piss him off, it would be a crime, too. A disservice to who Cas had become. He could respect that.

Clothes and shoes were torn off and tossed away. It left them naked, together, under the sheets, sweaty from their savage pawing at each other. Somewhere, they’d surrendered to each other. Played out their aggression. No more biting or wrestling for control. Gone was the roughness, the brutal desperation. Dean traced a gentle line down Cas' sternum, to his stomach, and kissed his lips. If he had a choice, he'd spend days kissing him, memorizing his everything. He doubted neither Cas nor his dick would let him, though, and both nagged at him impatiently. Cas wanted to be spread wide. His dick wanted every inch of him—and who was he to argue?

For what seemed like hours, Dean felt blindly for the lube, found it and wet his fingers. Cas went to work on his dick, stroking it evenly with those strong, graceful fingers. Just his touch alone, all over his most intimate parts, almost made him come and for minutes, he found pleasure in Cas' hands. Lost himself in it. He pumped his hips forward over and over again, sliding into the tight warmth of his fist. To keep himself from blowing his load, Dean bit his lip hard, thought of something else to stop the urge to let it all go. Cas must have noticed, too, because his hands fell away, leaving him naked. Fingertips traced lazy circles over his back instead. It relaxed him, peeling away years of guilt and stress. Dean let his head lull forward, lips grazing Cas' collarbone, his neck, the shell of his ear. Beneath him, Cas groaned. It woke him up in a way, making him realize that this was _Cas_ , his best friend, writhing under his own body. Six fucking years of sexual tension, of pretending they didn't need each other just like _this_ : naked, skin to skin, raw and vulnerable. This had been his private Apocalypse, his true feelings for Cas, everything he’d feared and hid from himself. Letting it out, _communicating_ —was the best thing that'd ever happened to him.

Dean kissed his lips again and teased his rim with a wet finger. A groan shot out of Cas' throat and it nearly took his breath away. The fact that he could make Cas feel this way was fucking incredible. Cas spread his legs wide, giving himself up to him, and slowly, gently, Dean pushed inside. Cas' body squeezed around him like an iron vice. The noises Cas made—Dean melted over him like butter, liquid warm against his body as he fingered him. Slow and easy at first, then with Cas’ insistence, harder until he was fucking him with two. He didn't expect Cas to be so fucking _loud_ with his groaning or such a whore for this, either. Just the right note, depth—hell, even a fucking whisper on his skin—would have him gushing. Cas, too. They both needed it now. Right now. 

As painful as it was, Dean waited until Cas was nice and loose before falling into position. And as soon as the head of his dick pressed against Cas— _fuck_. Both of them moaned, the need to come urgent. Neither of them would last much longer. That was a fucking fact.

Cas’ body folded around him, _molded_ to him as he pushed in. It was hot and tight and wet, and—holy fucking shit. Dean dropped his head to Cas' collarbone again, just… completely fucking _gone_. He’d never felt anything _so right_ in his entire life. Not hunting, not bagging monsters. Even _pie_ could fuck right off. Savoring every second, he just… there were no words. He didn’t move, afraid this was all just a dream, that Cas would disappear. He let the heat of Cas’ body consume him, let Cas’ muscles squeeze him to the point he felt overwhelmed. Only when Cas kissed his head did he begin to rock his hips. He slid into him again and again, slowly, finding that they were no longer separate, but one. One breath, one body. A single heartbeat. This is what he'd been missing in his life. Sex with meaning. Wanting to wake up to the same person every morning. Loving someone. Loving _Cas_. From the very beginning, the first time those sparks flew in that barn, it had been all about Cas. He needed him the second he'd laid eyes on him. Somehow knew, even then, that Cas was the one that'd make him complete.

Right now, he could admit to himself that he'd always been in love with his best friend.

It was as if Cas knew. He wrapped his arms around him, hugged him and didn't let go. It wasn't the sex that filled him to bursting. Watching his dick slide in and out of Cas' body—that wasn’t what turned him on so fucking much or make his cock as hard as steel. It was that hug, so tight, so loving, that... left him breathless. 

Cas kissed his lips. Dean tried everything to hold himself back— "Cas... goddamn it..."

That was Cas’ cue. Cas fit a fist between their bodies and started jerking himself off. Dean covered his mouth with his own, kissing him hard while he pistoned his hips. Puffs of warm air shot against his face as Cas panted under him, fingers working so quickly that they were a blur. Dean jerked into him hard and rough, and Cas’ eyes flew wide open. So fucked up on sex and feeling good that blue had turned black and glazed over. Cas was so close. He could feel it in the clamping muscle around his dick, in the way Cas' entire body began to shudder. Cas arched his back and closed his eyes. Kept pumping his fist over and over.

Dean was about to explode.

"Come on, Cas..." he whispered. _Almost. Right there._ "I fucking _love you_..."

Cas threw his head back with a shout, coming and shooting all over his stomach and chest. Feeling him tighten around him, having Cas paint his skin hot and wet—it was all he needed. He came so fucking hard, he saw stars. And it was so powerful that it tore his body to pieces, blew his brain right out of his head. Looking back, his first orgasm with Cas had been the best he'd ever had. It had left him rubbery and—it was _indescribable_. It was _meaningful_. It was fucking _everything_.

After they'd cleaned up, they lay next to each other, safe under the sheets. Dean ran his fingers through Cas' hair while Cas nuzzled next to him, as close as he possibly could. In ten minutes, maybe a little more, he'd be ready again. He'd want to be ready again. He'd fuck Cas until sunrise, until they both collapsed from exhaustion. 

Cas kissed his chest and smiled. It was beautiful against his skin, something he'd want forever. Nothing would fuck it up, he promised himself. Lack of communication, trust issues? Not an option. He was so resolute that he bubbled up with it, so invigorated about his smart decision that his stomach swelled. It traveled up his chest, to his throat. He thought he might just sing with how great he felt, with how amazing Cas made him feel. Dean opened his mouth, tested the first note on his tongue and—

 _Hiccup_.

"Motherfucker."

Cas snickered.

:::

The next day, in the afternoon sunshine, the Impala hugged a bend in the road just a few miles from the bunker. The three of them weren't headed off to another case, hot in pursuit, but to the local diner where they served killer milkshakes and even better hamburgers. Sam sat in the passenger seat as usual, looking out the window. In the back, Cas had his eyes closed, lips moving as if he were... mumbling. Sam took notice.

"Cas, you okay?"

"Yes."

"Uh—all right." Both he and Sam had come to the same conclusion. "You... praying?"

"Yes, Sam. I'm praying," Cas said matter-of-factly. "For the hiccups."

"What? _Why_?"

"Sam. Leave it alone."

Sam looked at Dean quizzically, then at Cas, then at him again. Dean kept a straight face. His brother shot out a half-laugh, half-snort thing from his nose and looked out the window again. Somehow, right then, Dean knew that Sam had known all along; that his brother and angel best friend had feelings for each other from the very beginning. That they'd finally realized it—the dumb bastards—and had sex. Not only sex, but mind-blowing sex. The best goddamn sex ever. All because of a curious case of incurable hiccups. Dean decided then that their codeword for sex would be hiccups. That they'd have a shit-ton of it and that their lives would be long and happy.

Dean flashed Cas a grin in the rearview mirror as a sort of silent promise.

As if he knew, Cas smiled back.


End file.
